


Galladon of Tarth

by rhye



Series: 41 Nights/Alys Storm [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Kid Fic, Original Character(s), Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Season 8 ended after episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: Galladon Tarth realizes that his half-sister's mother was also his aunt, and discovers that Jaime left Brienne at Winterfell to go back to Cersei. He has big feelings about this. (As do we all.)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: 41 Nights/Alys Storm [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1355197
Comments: 22
Kudos: 175





	Galladon of Tarth

GALLADON

Galladon Tarth knew he was privileged. Most people did not have maids, cooks, stablehands, or maesters. His mother had been firm, though, that these people around him did not exist to make his life easier. Rather, they freed him and his family from mundane tasks so they could pursue more difficult ones. They could meet with lords and governors, they could negotiate trade agreements, or broker peace between fighting households. The smallfolk worked for their lords so that the lords could then turn around and work for the smallfolk.

And, as a boy of only three and ten, for Galladon that work chiefly meant schooling.

He didn’t usually mind lessons. He had a mind for strategy, only because he felt he understood what motivated individuals. He could do some arithmetic, and hence was even allowed to practice by checking his grandfather’s math. One day Lord Selwyn would die, and long after that-- hopefully when Galladon himself was coming on in years-- his own mother would also pass from the earth. At that point, Galladon would be the Evenstar, and the responsibilities would be his. Every thought in his education was bent towards this eventual future.

So yes, he understood the importance of his education. But seated in an over-hot room, at an over-hard, over-small chair-- who could blame Galladon for disliking his daily lessons? He was hardly alone. Brien, the son of Ser Podrick the castellan, didn’t like it much either. Arthur, Galladon’s brother, was young enough at ten name days that he could still skip lessons without chastisement. He was here today, which meant only that he had nothing better to do. Only Alys-- Galladon’s older half-sister-- seemed excited for the measter’s lessons. She derived her chief entertainment from books. She had always loved to read, but since she lost her sight some years before, it became her main hobby. She read in a pin-prick system invented by Lord Tarly.

When Maester Coelum announced that they would stop studying heraldry for a while to discuss history instead, Alys was prepared with her pin-prick copy of Lord Tarly’s volume: “The History of the Seven Kingdoms from Aerys II to Jon I.” They did _sometimes_ study interesting eras of history, but Maester Coelum had warned them that they would be reviewing The War of the Three Queens. Galladon cared little for recent history. He felt he’d heard enough simply listening to men at Evenfall Hall recount their old war stories. Besides, The War of the Three Queens hardly even deserved to be called a war. Galladon knew it to be a dull siege of King’s Landing that ended with Uncle Tyrion poisoning a dragon and the peaceful surrender of Queen Cersei to King Jon.

“Many consider it a miracle that the siege of King’s Landing ended without open warfare,” Maester Coelum began. “But, as we know, it was no act of the gods that ended the war in such a way. Rather, the decisions made by mere mortals brought about this end. What decisions were made, and by whom, to end The War of the Three Queens peacefully?”

As always, Alys shot her hand up first. “Uncle Tyrion betrayed Queen Daenerys.”

“Correct. He is heralded as the singular hero of that war, and rightly so. As you know, he poisoned the dragon Drogon. Otherwise, many fear Daenerys’ plan was to burn King’s Landing with dragonfire.”

This explanation was met with silence. Galladon wouldn’t like to see King’s Landing destroyed, but it would have made for a far more interesting lesson.

“Any other decisions you can credit?”

Brien answered: “Someone killed Cersei Lannister.”

“That is true,” Maester Coelum stated, “Though it is unclear why she was killed or by whom. It is also unclear whether that would have affected the outcome. She had already surrendered by that time. There is no excuse for treating her so cruelly.” He paused, frowning. He seemed likely to add something more, but shook his head and smiled at his pupils. “Who’s next?”

Galladon eyed Arthur, who glared back at him. Gally hadn’t even lifted a page of Tarly’s history tome. Arthur had read the whole thing, but hated to look smart in lessons.

“Galladon,” Maester Coelum said. “Do you have any idea?”

“Um. Maybe father… because he led the forces for the Starks instead of the Lannisters?”

He knew he’d answered wrong when his answer was met with silence.

“What forces, you idiot?” Arthur hissed.

“Arthur!” Maester Coelum snapped. “We do not call names in this room.”

Alys whispered something under her breath.

Galladon wondered what he’d said wrong. Father was a warrior, a knight. He’d been with the Starks, of that much Galladon was certain. He’d sided against his own sister. He didn’t need to open a book to recall as much. Surely he would have led the siege? Or, mayhaps he’d not _led_ it…

“I meant,” Galladon said, “He aided King Jon in the siege.”

More silence. Alys sighed. Wrong again, then.

“Young master, if you ever imagine you could become lord of an island without lifting the page of a history book--”

“I have read history books!” Galladon protested. He had! Just not this particular one.

“I can lend you mine,” Alys said, pushing over her needle-prick copy. Galladon felt his face turn red with embarrassment even as he pulled his sister’s book towards him. Maybe in this format he could muddle through.

“That’s right,” Arthur mumbled, “Run to Alys. Maybe she can be _lady_ of the island. Then you can lift her skirts like father, and she can run the place.”

Galladon didn’t understand what Arthur was speaking of, but Brien gasped and Alys turned red with fury. Maester Coelum froze. Slowly, he turned and opened the door. “Leave,” he told Arthur.

“What!? He doesn’t even know--”

“No, but the rest of us do. Leave right now and mayhaps I will think of telling your parents of this incident when they are in good moods. Elsewise, I’ll send someone for your father now.”

This seemed to scare Arthur. Galladon couldn’t imagine why-- father had never raised a hand to any of them. Arthur stood slowly, and Galladon could tell his brother was shaking. Arthur gathered his books and left.

Then, surprisingly, Alys also sprang up. She gripped her cane with two white-knuckled hands and ran from the room. She was fast-- almost fast enough to hide her tears, but not quite.

Maester Coelum forced a smile for his two remaining pupils. Brien clearly wanted to be anywhere besides here. Thankfully, the maester seemed to feel the same way. “Class adjourned,” he said.

Brien bolted for the practice yard, and Galladon had a mind to join him there. But first--

He approached Maester Coelum. “What was that about? What did Arthur say-- What did he mean--”

“Read your history,” Maester Coelum answered. “And if you’ve questions after you’ve read it, speak to your parents. This is entirely not my place.” With that, he too turned and ran from the room.

Galladon looked around the empty classroom. He cursed himself for being such a halfwit. He knew he was perilous with a sword, powerful on a horse, and people called him kind. But still, something seemed deeply wrong with him. He had _tried_ to read more, he _had_ , but the words swam before his eyes and danced out of his grasp.

He folded Alys’s pinpoint history text to his chest. He would get through this one, so nothing like this could catch him unawares again.

*****

ARTHUR

Arthur had gone to his favorite hiding spot, so that even after the maester talked to his parents, they would have time to cool down while searching for him. There was a tiny murderhole within the inner and outer bailey that hadn’t been manned in Arthur’s life, and he’d taken to squirreling some odds and ends there, away from the room he shared with his brother.

He sat there now, feeling like a child. He’d felt like such a man, slinging sex-charged insults at his siblings. But now he felt like an idiot. He’d only gotten himself in trouble, and he’d seen Alys in the hallway, holding herself with the grace and determination of a statue, tears streaming soundlessly out of her sightless eyes. He knew that was his fault. How could he show himself again? Should he just live here forever? Get on a ship headed to Myr? Become a traveling mummer? Would Uncle Tyrion welcome him in should his father disown him?

His thoughts might have drowned him eventually, but the door to his small hiding spot opened, and his father’s head poked through. His usually affable face was somber and lined with anger. “Come down and meet me in the yard,” he said. Then he disappeared.

Arthur gave a thought to ignoring the summons, but only a fleeting one. He was in a deadend here. There was no more running. He wanted to be a knight like his namesake, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Ser Arthur Dayne would not have run from the consequences of his actions.

Once he was in the yard, his father handed him live steel. He’d never been allowed to spar with edged steel before. He was about to ask whether it was a mistake, when he saw his father’s stern face and knew it wasn’t. “Why?” Arthur asked.

His father only took a stance, and Arthur mimicked. His father went through a carefully planned training regime-- one they had done before with dull blades and sticks-- and Arthur followed suit. At length, father spoke.

“I had three children before Alys. All of them died. Did you know that?”

Arthur nodded mutely. _He’d_ read his history. The Ser Jaime mentioned in those pages seemed like someone else, someone Arthur had never met. His own papa laughed and hated warfare. Sometimes he drank too much wine, or stole Mama away from her duties for an afternoon on the seashore. This was not a man who could kill a king, maim a child, or love anyone who wasn’t Mama. But now, in the training yard, the person standing across from him was not his affable papa, but Ser Jaime the Just. His father. And also the father of King Joffrey the Cruel.

“I didn’t love them half as well as I should have. I didn’t _know_ them half as well as I know you.” His father’s moves became harder, the steel ringing down Arthur’s arms. Faster, too. Arthur had to think fast to keep from losing his own hand.

“They died because I lay with my sister. That started a _war_. The war began over _rumors_. The deaths of children are... hard to bear. Maester Coelum came to me this afternoon. Do you know what he had to tell me?”

Arthur took a breath to nod, but dared not waste air on words. He was too focused on the choreographed dance, one he had thought he knew well, that he now saw as a slow motion fight.

“I can’t lose you, Arthur. Losing you would be too much. For me. I love you too much. And since you seem intent upon starting a war by spreading foul rumors, the least I can do is make sure you live through it.”

Papa drove Arthur’s sword down into the dirt. The dance stopped as suddenly as that, and Arthur was left breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, in the yard.

Papa took Arthur’s sword and put it away, lifting a war hammer in its stead. _I’ve heard tell of children being hit by parents. I wonder if the hammer will be my end._

Papa handed it over calmly, then said, “You want to be a knight. You’re ten, old enough to squire. In this yard, I’m not your father, I’m Ser Jaime. Run around the inner bailey twice with this hammer over your head. If you get too tired to go on, rest, and then go on. You must always push yourself farther than you think you can go. Giving up means death. Go.”

Arthur didn’t wait to be told twice. He hefted the enormous hammer above his head. He could barely hold it. And he began to run.

He had always been his father’s son, from his golden hair to his green eyes, but now he was also the squire of Ser Jaime the Just. It was not a chance he’d waste.

*****

BRIENNE

Jaime had been angry when Maester Coelum spoke to them. He’d set off to find Arthur immediately. Only at teatime did Brienne learn of Arthur becoming Jaime’s squire. The entire day had set off a tiny chain of wildfire in Brienne’s heart. She felt too many emotions to feel at once, so she reverted to her default and felt none of them. She saw Alys’s heartbreak, Galladon’s jealousy, Arthur’s pride masking his contrition, Jaime’s anger masking his fear. CatCat was an innocent bystander, but one who nonetheless understood that something was wrong within her family. Everyone was acting different, and Brienne felt pressure to be the stoic center. Most of all, she felt she needed to be unaffected for CatCat. And for the babe she suspected she may carry inside her. This was her family. It was built on love and joy, but also on violence and incest. She was tired of caring about Cersei, of thinking or wondering about Cersei. She could often pass weeks at a time without ever thinking of Jaime’s first love, but sometimes she still felt like a pale second place. That was unfair-- both to herself and to Jaime. She knew it was untrue. Nevertheless, some reflex trained into her by Septa Roelle, by a lifetime of shame, begged her to see the worst in herself.

She needed to only hug CatCat to ease the feeling. The girl was as affectionate as they came, and quiet as a dormouse. She was nearing five, but in some sense still acted like a much younger child. Perhaps Brienne had coddled her too long. And now there may be another babe. Brienne was happy, but still felt concern over so many things.

No one had prepared her for the battle of emotions that was family life. She would much rather face a thousand men in a clean fight.

Jaime had reprimanded Arthur in his own way. Of this she had no doubt. But she needed to have a talk with him of a different kind. She needed him to understand their family and the haven she and Jaime had built here on Tarth. She needed Arthur to know that he didn’t live in a story.

She found him mucking out the stables. It was a task assigned by Jaime. Arthur took to it with gusto, but-- well, it was his first day as a squire. In a few more, he would no doubt sour on menial chores like this one. Jaime might forget to assign them, too, so mayhaps reprieve was in sight. Jaime had not had a squire before. Brienne trained up two after Pod. She wondered if Jaime would ever ask her advice.

She waited until Arthur was done, and then sat on a hay bale outside the stable, motioning him to sit beside her.

“If you’re here to lecture me, Papa already did. I’m sorry. Is that all?”

Brienne smiled over at him. “I’m sure he gave you good reasons not to spread those sorts of rumors-- or any rumors at all, in fact.”

“I wasn’t _spreading_ anything. I just said…”

“Maester Coelum told me what you said. I’d rather you didn’t repeat it. Not to me or anyone. You don’t seem to understand that when a person says anything-- to anyone-- rumors are born. Even if you spoke to me, in the shadow of the barn, someone might be listening.”

Arthur looked around. “Oy, there’s Crann feeding the mules.” Arthur waved to the stablehand, and Crann waved back. “He wouldn’t spread rumors.”

“No,” Brienne nodded. “He wouldn’t. And I need you to understand why. Your father and I wanted to give you children a safe and joyful childhood. We’ve many reasons for that, but we worked hard. We chose only the most loyal among my father’s bannermen for our household. We dismissed anyone who spoke roughly to Alys or Gally when they were mere toddlers. We dismissed anyone with wagging tongues, or unknown relatives. I’ve no doubt we dismissed some very good and deserving people, but we wanted to err on the side of caution. We’ve worked hard to retain the trust of our household, to build faith and trust among all the people of Tarth at all levels of society, and that was not just because we naturally like peace-- though I daresay we do. It was because we didn’t want to live in a world mired with foul rumors or unwelcomed reminders of things past. You see, Arthur... “ She hesitated here. What she was about to say was delicate, and perhaps something even Arthur himself didn't have the self-awareness to see, but it was worth saying. “In the world outside of Evenfall or the Red Keep’s guarded walls, people are unkind to those they see as different. They would think themselves within their rights to murder a bastard born of incest, let alone the bastard daughter of their once ruthless queen. They would think themselves within their rights to murder a boy who looks at other boys instead of girls-- no matter how young and harmless the infatuations.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. _Ah, so he does know this about himself._

“We have made you a safe haven, but one day you will have to leave the nest. So it is also our job to give you the skills you will need out there in the wider world. Your father and I will not judge you. We have both been too much judged ourselves. The rest of the world will eat you alive, though. He sees arming you as preparing you. And mayhaps it does prepare you. But you cannot fight rumors in the shadows with a sword and shield. In the meantime, let this be a safe space for your sister yet a while longer. She’s three and ten and will be let into the world soon enough. She will have to fight every day for her right to live. Don’t let’s start that just yet.”

“Sorry,” Arthur murmured, though his voice sounded on the verge of tears.

She hugged him close.

“Does Papa know? About me? I mean, that I can’t seem to care about girls?”

“Of course. He’s been with you almost every day since you were born.”

“And he is still willing to train me to be a knight?”

“Willing?” Brienne laughed. “He’s been planning your tourney victories since the cradle. Why?”

Arthur shrugged. “I thought maybe he’d see me as… more like a girl.”

Brienne stiffened. “Even if you were a girl, he’d still want you to be a knight”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Brienne sighed. “Life is more complicated than you can imagine, Arthur. Who you love and what’s between your legs and what you choose to do with your life’s work are three different things. It’s strange to me that we’ve somehow tied them all together into what amounts to a noose for far too many people. You can be whatever you want to be in any respect, so long as you are kind and gentle to your family. We’ve done nothing to wrong you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“Stop apologizing and go bathe before supper. You smell like a manure pile.”

*****

JAIME

When Brienne came into the room, Jaime immediately stuffed item he’d been holding into his doublet, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Of course she noticed. Her impossible blue eyes narrowed on him.

“What is that?”

“What?” He still had a hope that feigning innocence might work, but his hope was dashed soon enough.

“Whatever you just shoved into your doublet.”

“It’s not done. I’ve only just come from the mercer.” As soon as he’d seen the vibrant blue silk in the morning sunlight, he’d known he had to have it. Brienne would not appreciate it as Jaime would like, but that could not stop him from buying it for her. He needed time to charge the seamstress to turn the fabric into something of utility. Brienne had no use for any object that did not have some claim to utility.

Brienne sighed. “I don’t need silken gifts, Jaime.”

“Of course you don’t. If you _need_ something, it’s hardly a gift.”

She pouted, likely missing his point.

He shrugged and fished the vibrant blue silk from his doublet, draping it across his right arm. “It will go well with your eyes.”

“And be hidden under a jerkin and plate. What use do I have for a silk blouse?”

“It’s chief utility comes in pleasing your husband to give it to you. I was never one for courtly etiquette, but I think the appropriate response to a gift is ‘thank you’. And it need not be a blouse.”

“Thank you, but--”

“A scarf perhaps, or--” he approached her, running his hand down her long torso, “a night-dress.”

He was close enough to hear her swallow.

“So, my lady wants a silken night-dress.”

“It’s too small for a night dress. I will be needing something with more-- it would have to have more space.” She swallowed again.

He frowned at her. “It could be a short night-dress.” He moved his hand to stroke her bottom. A _very_ short night-dress.

“No-- I, uh-- my measurements are like to change. Around the middle.” She took his hand and lay it against her stomach.

His heart leapt into his throat and he met her crystal blue eyes. “Truly?”

She nodded. “I just came from Maester Coelum. He was as excited as if it were his own.”

Jaime lunged onto his toes to capture her lips with his own. Upon breaking this kiss he added, “Not excited enough to do that, I hope.”

She was blushing red.

“We can use the material for a gown for the babe.” If there was any justice in the world, the babe would have its mother’s eyes. So far, only CatCat had won that prize.

“We have gowns--” she interrupted.

“We also have coin and a seamstress. I won’t be moved.”

“One might guess you grew up rich and spoilt.”

“Come now, you’re the heiress of an island. You grew up rich and spoilt as well.” He caressed her stomach, “And so will this one, if I have anything to do with it.”

*****

GALLADON

Galladon lay across Alys’s bed, her book open in his lap. She was writing something, her fingers pricking pinholes in the paper with a speed he couldn’t follow, never once slipping to stab her own flesh. Galladon was trying to read, truly he was.

“This is utterly boring,” he groaned.

“Sssh. Just read.”

“King Daemon I Blackfyre was a bastard son of Princess Daena Targaryen and King Aegon IV Targaryen...” Galladon read aloud to try and focus his mind.

Alys’s milky eyes rolled his way. “You’re an idiot. Don’t start so far back. You chiefly want to know about our-- about Papa, right?”

“I just want to not be laughed at when I don’t know--”

She jerked the book from his hands and flipped, her fast fingers reading over pages as she darted ahead. Finally, she handed the text back to him. “There. Start there.”

He fingered the chapter title. “The Tournament at Harrenhal.”

She nodded. “And please, shut up, I’m trying to write this--”

“Who are you writing to?”

“Mind your own business,” she said snappishly.

Galladon darted his hand out and scanned the opening of the letter even as Alys hid it away from him. No matter, he’d caught the name. “Brien?” He asked. “Brien lives in this castle. Why do you have to write him letters?”

She pressed her lips together. “Honestly, Gally, this is why Arthur is always complaining about his privacy. I said it wasn’t your business.”

Galladon felt a wave of emotions-- jealousy that Alys was writing Brien, jealousy that Alys would ever side with Arthur, anger at always being the last to know anything, and the sad heaviness of rejection. He was about to say something to Alys he would likely regret when he noted a small face staring at them around the door jamb.

“CatCat?”

“Breonna won’t do my hair,” she whispered.

Breonna was just a few years older than CatCat. She was Ser Podrick and Nana Alia’s second child after Brien-- and CatCat’s usual playmate.

“Why not?”

“She said she’s getting too old,” CatCat whispered. “Too old to play with me.”

Galladon felt his heart twist for his little sister. He had felt the weight of rejection just a moment ago, and he hated to think of innocent little CatCat also feeling such a thing.

“Well, if you act like a baby, people will treat you like a baby,” Alys said sharply.

Galladon stood. “Come on CatCat, I would love to braid your hair. Alys and Breonna are both just too grown up for their own good. I like being a child, too.”

This earned him a shy smile from CatCat, her huge blue eyes staring up at him in something like awe. Her white-blond hair was a haloed mess around her head. Perhaps she’d tangled it to spite Breonna.

“Let’s go to the nursery. I know Alys doesn’t want to be disturbed by _children_ like us.”

“Honestly…” Alys hissed under her breath.

Galladon took the book with him, tucked under one arm. CatCat nestled her tiny hand in Galladon’s much larger one, and together they went to be children for a while longer.

*****

After playing with CatCat, Galladon returned to his room and read. And read and read. Since he was reading from Alys’s copy of the history book, Galladon could read through the dark of the night, his blanket pulled over his head. Sometimes he had to re-read passages, not sure he had understood.

When light filtered through the high windows of the boys’ bedroom, Galladon rose and crept out without waking Arthur. He was wandering the halls before breaking his fast when he happened to wander into his grandfather. Lord Selwyn Tarth was walking the walls for exercise.

“Grandpapa--” Galladon started.

“Oh, Gally, you’re up early. How are you, then?”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Huh?” His grandfather lifted his eyes from the courtyard to Galladon’s face. He must have seen something there, because next he said, “Is something wrong?”

Galladon bit his lip, and then forced himself to stop. The habit plagued him. “I’ve been reading Tarly’s history.”

“Oh yeah? Riveting stuff. Is that why you look as though you haven’t slept?”

Galladon nodded. “Do you believe it all?”

“Well, Lord Tarly did his research.”

“What about-- do you believe everything about... about Papa?”

His grandfather squinted at Galladon. “Well, there’s nothing in there untrue, as far as I could tell. And if there were, I’m sure your father would have corrected him. They knew each other in Winterfell, and ravens still fly from your father to Tarly on occasion.”

“So it’s true? All of it? I mean, what about him and Queen Cersei?”

He watched a deep wrinkle form on his grandfather’s forehead. “What about it?”

“Is it true he abandoned the Starks at the last minute to rejoin her?”

Selwyn shrugged. “He was thrown in the cells and there he remained until your mother rescued him. It has a lovely damsel-in-distress note, does it not?” He laughed to himself.

“Is it also true they--” Galladon leaned closer to whisper, “That he and Queen Cersei were _together_ , before Mama?”

Selwyn released a big belly laugh, causing Galladon to jump in surprise. “Look at you,” Selwyn said, “leaning in close and whispering. That hasn’t been a secret in a generation. Queen Cersei had many people under her finger, and her father before her, though she wasn’t as smart about it as the old lion. When your father came to Tarth, everyone was quaking in their boots that he might be Tywin come again, arriving to subjugate us for his own purposes. I accused him of such myself.” He shook his head, laughing faintly at this past folly.

“But he wasn’t?” Galadon felt silly asking. Of course his father had not _subjugated_ Tarth. “I mean, when did you realize he was changed?”

“Changed? Bah. I don’t know how changed he was, and your mother says he’s changed not one whit. The histories tell of a person’s actions, but a person’s character is more than the sum of their actions. Mayhaps Jaime Lannister killed his king on his father’s say-so, but he wasn’t much older than you, and the lone Kingsguard in King’s Landing during the greatest war the realm had seen since the Dance of Dragons. Which of us, in his position, might not have also done as our father said?”

Galladon nodded, but the kingslaying bothered him much less than the other crime-- that of laying with his sister. Galladon had two sisters. The idea twisted his stomach. Worse, though, was the thought that his father might have loved Queen Cersei better than he loved Mama. He had _left_ Mama, and turned his back on the Starks, to rejoin the Lannister army. Was Mama a second choice? Did she not mind being played for a fool? Though Galladon had intended to join his family for the morning meal, he could not stomach the idea any longer. Instead, he continued walking in the fresh air, gulping for it like a drowning man.

Finally, the sun was high, and that meant it was time for his sparring lesson. He looked forward to it every day, but more so today. His muscles were coiled and ready to fight as he faced off across the yard from his mother. His mind was distracted and his eyes blurry from lack of sleep, though.

“My stamina is not high today,” his mother said. “I may be ill. You would do well to wear me down.”

Galladon frowned. He hefted his dull steel blade. His mother made him train with unfamiliar swords from time to time, and today was one such time. Its balance was a little point-heavy. “Surely there’s no honor in using an illness against you.”

“Honor is for tournaments. In battle, you must win.”

“In battle, no soldier would announce that they were ill.”

“In battle, all soldiers are ill. Illness tears through military camps like dragonfire. But you know this, because your mother told you, so you have kept to yourself, and you come to the battle refreshed. Your opponent is ill.”

Galladon’s gaze was drawn away from his mother, to a balustrade where his father was watching, CatCat perched on his shoulders. Her hands were tangled in his hair, gripping it like reins. Her braids-- the ones he had plaited into her hair the night before-- jutted from the sides of her head. Galladon felt a jumble of emotions stir within him. His stomach twisted. _King Joffrey was passed off as the Baratheon heir, when in truth he was the bastard of Queen Cersei by her twin, Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard._ Lord Arryn and then Lord Stark had discovered this truth-- and both had paid for it with their lives. Some part of Galladon desperately wanted to cling to the version of his father he had grown up loving, but that image had crumbled more with each page that Galladon had read. Instead, he saw a man who might have preferred that Lady Brienne had died, that King Jon had died, so that his own tyrannical sister could have lived.

His mother struck, and Galladon’s sword sailed out of his hands. “I wasn’t ready,” he mumbled.

“Then the lesson is, even an ill soldier can kill you if you aren’t ready.”

He picked up his blade again, and when he chanced a glance at the balustrade, Papa and CatCat had turned and walked away. CatCat’s blonde braids bounced with each step. Galladon felt his heart twist again. His Papa, and his CatCat-- his family. He wanted to cry, or to un-read the history book.

He turned to see his mother’s sharp eyes upon him. Her gaze then flicked up to the balustrade.

“Galladon--” she started.

He was grateful that she didn’t follow him as he stormed away.

*****

Arthur was so excited that he was speaking with his mouth full, and Galladon was given many glances of partially-masticated chicken. He really wished Arthur would shut his mouth already, and not just because of the food. Arthur could not stop talking about his new adventures as a squire.

“Brun threw a shoe, though, so I took out Burley-- I hope you don’t mind, Gally. But he came up lame.”

“You pulled him up too short and he stumbled,” Papa said. “Don’t make it sound like he came up lame on his own, Arthur.”

Galladon glared across the table. “You injured my horse?” Billy Burley-- named for the fabled longbowman-- was a three year old brown gelding that Arthur had received on his tenth name day. He wasn’t any destrier, but he was a fine enough horse. Galladon loved to ride him through the hills around Evenfall. He wanted to hit Arthur.

Papa was glaring at Arthur. “You said you were going to tell him right after you bathed.”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s not my fault if I couldn’t find him until now.”

“He shouldn’t have had to hear about it over dinner, regardless.”

Mama sighed, “Galladon _has_ been… spending much time apart today.”

“Galladon’s been acting like a baby,” Alys seethed. Was her stupid letter to Brien so important that she was going to hold a grudge over it?

Papa ignored them both, looking to Galladon. “I’m sorry. I should have made sure he came to tell you about your horse.”

It was worse, somehow, that Mama and Alys were taking Arthur’s side and Papa was on Gally’s. He could barely even bear _looking_ at his father right now. Papa had taken Arthur to squire. Papa had fled to rejoin Queen Cersei. Galladon could not have said which crime felt more dire to him at that moment. _Papa let Arthur injure my horse._

Galladon rose from his chair, food untouched, and stormed from the hall.

*****

JAIME

His eyes met Brienne’s over the table. No one spoke, and Alys hung her head, hopefully a bit ashamed of her part in Galladon’s reaction.

Brienne put down her fork. “I’ll speak with him.” She started to rise.

“No,” Jaime said, jumping up. “This was my fault, I’ll go.”

He found Gally outside, leaning on the rail around the paddock, eyes following Burley. He turned as Jaime approached and snapped, “Go away.”

_Teenagers_. Thirteen was too old to be a boy, but not yet a man, and Galladon was firmly wedged between both ends. Was all of this really because Gally’s horse had come up lame today? He’d be better in no time. “Your horse is still young enough--”

“This isn’t about my horse.”

“If this isn’t about your horse, mayhaps you can tell me what _is_ it about?”

“You,” Gally croaked, and just like that he was not the spitting teenager but the little boy.

“You’re right, I should have made him ride Archie--”

“I don’t care about _horses_. I care about-- you. You-- you’re the _Kingslayer_. You crippled Lord Stark. You-- you left Mama for _your sister_.” 

Jaime’s blood ran as cold as ice. “Is this about what Arthur said two days ago?”

Gally shook his head furiously. “Arthur wasn’t trying to hurt me. I hadn’t read anything. I didn’t know what he was saying.” Galladon hiccuped. “But now I do. I’ve done my reading now.”

_Ah_. Galladon had read Samwell’s history, and now he hated his father. Somehow, Jaime had never imagined that this conversation would come up with sweet, innocent Galladon. That was shortsighted of him, admittedly. This conversation would come up with each of his children, even the one yet unformed in its mother’s womb.

Jaime would never erase the past, nor would he want to rewrite Samwell’s books to be less faithful accounts of history. Jaime had told Sam about pushing Bran himself, told Sam to put that in his book if he was purporting to tell the truth. Sam had hesitated, but then he’d finally nodded, all his chins nodding along. Now, people knew. They knew it all. _Not about Aerys_ , a voice in his head said. It sounded suspiciously like his lady wife.

Jaime had half a mind to ask Coelum to stop teaching the children, but how could they be lords or ladies or knights without a basic command of history, especially as concerned their own family? Their lineage. They were his, and he was _this_.

Jaime tried to think of something to say to his son. Could he offer no defense? He was guilty, though, of all the things Galladon accused him of. Well, almost all. He hadn’t chosen Cersei over Brienne, not at the end. But he had done so enough times before the end to feel guilt regardless.

“Galladon,” Jaime sighed. “You know that I love you, right?”

Galladon shrugged, and that hurt almost as much. Did he not know?

“Well, I do.”

“It just feels like-- maybe you should have told me yourself, you know? That I have dead siblings-- ones that were _kings_. That everyone in the Kingdoms knows all of this. You said Arthur should have told me directly about my horse. Maybe you should have told me directly about my father.” Galladon, often even-keel, seemed on the verge of tears. “Instead I had to get it from a book. And I feel like… maybe I never even knew you. Maybe you don’t care about me at all. Maybe you wish I were King Joffrey instead.”

Jaime remembered well how, as a young teenager, his own emotions had been overwhelming. He remembered the swings of anger and bliss and lust and anguish. He reached out, gripping Galladon’s hand in his own. Gally tried to pull away, but only feebly. Jaime held firm.

“You want to hear it from my own lips?” Jaime’s voice was low.

Gally didn’t answer, but his eyes glittered at Jaime in the dusk. He pulled his hand away at last.

“Fine. You were conceived before we were married-- after the Long Night, when we thought peace was upon us, your mother asked me to give her an heir for her island. We had already-- we were already together. That wasn’t why I lay with her, you understand. I loved her, but I had no true notion of wedding her. I didn’t think anyone would let me live long enough. Knowing that Cersei was with child already, I rode to King’s Landing. I didn’t know what I was planning. I thought I could convince her to run away with me, for the babe’s sake. Cersei always cared about her children more than anything else, or so I thought.

“But her true love was power. She had it, and would not relinquish it. You see, I did not leave your mother for my sister. I left her to save Alys. I thought I had to choose, and honor compelled me to choose Alys. I didn’t know about you when I left your mother in Winterfell, but even if I had, I would have chosen Alys. My sister had a way of twisting anything good she touched. You would have been fine in your mother’s care. Alys would needed me.

“But my plan was ill-conceived. I needed your mother to help me save Alys. Queen Sansa guessed that, or something like it, and sent your mother after me. When she discovered my reasoning... Any normal woman would have shunned Alys-- my daughter, conceived on my sister, sole heir to a power-hungry queen. Your mother loved her, and saved her, and claimed her. 

“And not for me, but because Alys was an innocent, and sister to the child she carried within her. _Your_ sister. And already she loved you enough to set her own needs aside. Cersei’s chief virtue was in her motherhood, but before even delivering a child, your own mother proved herself a better one. She is the best of all things. I’ve met no finer knight, no mother so virtuous, no maiden so--” He cleared his throat. “I _needed_ her. I needed to marry her like I needed air to breath. When you were born-- a sign that this most amazing of women had shown me favor among all men and let me help in making her heir-- I cried. You were my fifth child, but my first trueborn. I didn’t want to rule Tarth. I only wanted--” His voice stalled, and he cleared his throat again. “I only wanted my infant son.”

Jaime stopped talking. Galladon didn’t speak, and Jaime hoped it was not too much for a boy of three and ten. What he was saying, though, boiled down to nothing new. He loved Brienne, and Alys, and Galladon-- surely none of that was news to Gally. Everyone spoke of Cersei with venom, so her treachery could hardly be novel either.

“Gally,” Jaime continued, “Do you remember that I taught you to ride? That I put your first sword in your hand? Remember that time we got Old Dagget to let us play in the forge, hammering metal into horribly-shaped abominations? The time we took an old cart to the ferrier and a wheel fell off? I toppled into the mud.”

Galladon laughed.

“If you choose to hate me now that you know my history, I will understand. But I will never apologise for bringing you into this world, and for making sure everyone knows you are mine.”

Galladon was silent for a long moment. “That’s why Alys is blind, isn’t it? She’s your sister’s child. Does Alys hate you?”

Galladon always went wherever Alys led him-- that much was too often true.

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself. She’s not as likely as you are to say so to my face.” No, Alys was courtly and gentle in all ways Brienne was not. Jaime sighed. “Your mother says Alys is just exactly who she was meant to be.” It rang of truth, once Brienne had said it. Alys-- with Arya’s staff training, Samwell’s bump-writing, Galladon’s unflinching devotion-- she was clever and deadly and everyone underestimated her. “Think, Galladon,” he whispered. “Who knows Alys’s writing, besides her?”

“Us. Lord and Lady Baratheon. Lord Tarly. Lord Stark. The Queen and King. I taught Princess Aiana when we were in King’s Landing. Uncle Tyrion and Aunt Marleina. Ser Podrick and Nana Alia. Brien and Breonna.” He paused. “That’s all.”

Jaime nodded, though the bit about Princess Aiana was news to Jaime. “A powerful circle to know such secret writing, don’t you think? And who knows that Alys is deadly with her cane?”

Gally frowned. He knew as Jaime did that this list would be shorter.

“So you see,” Jaime continued. “Alys has turned her blindness into a vast advantage. The maester certainly suspects that her blindness is my fault, but so is her existence, the house in which she was raised, the kind brother she has to help her.” Jaime pushed Gally lightly. “As your mother says, Alys is becoming exactly who she was always meant to be.”

He leaned towards Galladon. “I know it hurts you that everyone knew before you did. Do you want to know a secret, and see how long it takes Alys and Arthur to figure it out?”

Galladon’s glowing green eyes told Jaime that the answer was yes.

“There’s another babe on the way.”

Galladon’s smile was tense, but happy. “That’s… nice,” he whispered. Knowing Galladon, he probably meant it, but something was still bothering him.

“That’s not all that’s troubling you. I know you well, Gally.” His oldest son was so _easy_ to read. So much like Brienne.

“It’s just…” Suddenly Gally’s hesitance gave way, “It’s really insulting you took Arthur to squire before you did me. And Mama won’t take me to squire either. It feels like... No one even wants me. I’m _good_ with a blade. You said so yourself! I’m good! Why did you skip me over?”

Jaime’s smile fell. He knew well that Galladon was good, but Jaime had not passed him over.

“Galladon Tarth, you are exceptional with a sword, and you are meant to be lord of this island. You can’t squire for your parents. We didn’t pass you over. We waited, because we didn’t want to burden you before you were ready, but now that you are asking… You could squire with anyone. With King Jon or Trystane Martell or Tormund Giantsbane on Bear Island. Lord Stark would have you, and so would any of the smaller houses as well. The Westerlands have been sending ravens for years, all my old friends begging to take you as squire. Your parents are knights of renown, and your skill is also well-rumored. As is your loyalty and good nature. There is not a house in all of Westeros that wouldn’t be thrilled to have you as squire. Arthur is a second son, and not as good as you. Anywhere he went, he would be second choice. There was no place to send him where they wouldn’t be insulted that they hadn’t gotten you instead. So I ask you, if and when you are ready to go to squire, consider well where you would like to go.”

Galladon stood still for a second. “Who is the best?” Galladon asked. “In the Kingdoms? Who can I learn the most from?”

“You assume the answer to both questions is the same?”

“I assume I need to learn from the best.”

Jaime shook his head. “You’ve already beaten the best swordsman in the Kingdoms. Twice as I recall.”

“Mama?”

Jaime turned to Galladon. “You will beat her more often as you gain height on her, which I think you are bound to do. What you most need to learn is how to be somewhere that is not home. I had been a squire for a year at your age, and been in battle, too. But you are somehow younger than your age.”

“I’m slow-witted, you mean.”

Jaime laughed. “That is not at all what I mean. You could not be a dimwit and beat your mother or myself in any ring. You have a good mind for strategy on the field. It’s the strategy of the court you know nothing of. People lie and cheat in the real world. They stab you from behind. You’ve lived all your life within these walls where everything can be trusted. Your mother and I built this world for you, and for Alys and Arthur and CatCat. We wanted you to be somewhere safe. You, son, can learn the most from someone who isn’t us, I think. No hasty decisions. Think on it. And, think wisely. Don’t choose King’s Landing just because Princess Aiana happens to be there.”

Galladon’s sudden red flush told Jaime he’d been right on that guess. Good. If Arthur-- or anyone-- did spread rumors regarding Galladon and Alys, Galladon’s telltale blush whenever the Princess was mentioned would quash them as quickly as wildfire. “Think on it at least a week,” Jaime added. “And be kind to your brother. It’s hard being a second son. Or so I’m told.” He winked and was rewarded by a cheerful laugh. 

Jaime hated the idea of seeing Gally leave their gates, of not being able to keep his son safe any more. The sight and sound, the smell even, of the first newborn he’d been able to hold at length-- he could close his eyes and he was right back there. His Gally was still a baby. But he was also a boy becoming a man and in need of experience. This fatherhood thing was harder than expected.

“You didn’t finish your food,” Jaime said. “As a growing lad, you’re within your rights to raid the kitchens, you know.”

Galladon licked his lips, and Jaime suppress a laugh. “Go. We can talk any time. I will _always_ be here.”

Once Galladon left, Jaime continued to sit outside in the gathering darkness. The fading sunlight floated over the Straights of Tarth, bathing the west side of Evenfall Hall in orange until the stone seemed to be made of fire. It was a sight he never grew tired of.

From the hall then came a figure-- another sight he did not tire of. His lady wife. She glowed herself, bathed in sunset, as she approached his dark corner of the paddock.

“He’s been reading,” Jaime whispered.

Brienne nodded. “Alys told me.” Then she wrapped her impossibly long fingers around the back of his head and pulled him to her shoulder. “You are a good father, Jaime Lannister.”

His arms wound around her waist. _A good father_. “I should have told him myself. All of it. That’s all he wanted.”

She pulled away. “You wouldn’t tell him all of it-- you would never be so kind to yourself.”

_She means Arys. She will never let me forget that. It would be so much easier to stew in self-loathing if she didn’t continually throw my best deed in my face._

Jaime swallowed. “He wants to be a squire.”

Brienne’s jaw clenched, but she nodded. “Where shall we send him?”

“I told him to think on it for one week.”

“You’d have him choose?”

“Unless he chooses something stupid.”

A smile ghosted across her face. “What choice would be stupid?”

“Well, the North, I think. We have enough close ties to the North, and there’s no one up in the frozen wasteland worth note for him to learn from. The minute he crossed the Neck he’d be the best swordsman in the North.”

“Tormund--”

“Tormund can’t teach him anything you haven’t already taught him. He needs to learn about _politics_ , about _betrayal_ , and the Northerners have no idea how its done.”

Brienne’s brow quirked. “Where would you send him to learn betrayal?”

“No one does betrayal like the West.” Jaime shook his head. “But I’d not send him there, either. He hardly needs to be seen as a Lannister. That could only bring him grief.”

“Lord Lannister is hand to the King--”

“After being hand to Joffrey, and then to Daenerys. From what Addam Marbrand tells me, morale is low in the West. No one much wants Tyrion as Lord Lannister. They’re like to put Galladon in his seat.”

Brienne frowned. “Where, then?”

“With King Jon, or the Martells, in the Riverlands, or-- or here, on Tarth.”

“You’d have him squire here?”

“No, I-- I’d have him squire for Lord Fostyr. That man is always half convinced that we don’t think well enough of him. I’d have Galladon learn politics and forge relationships in the place that matters most. But if he wants to go to King’s Landing or-- gods forbid-- Riverrun, I’ll not stop him.”

She nodded, quiet. The reality was upon them that Galladon would be leaving before the year was out.

“Let’s have a beach day,” Jaime suggested. “We haven’t been to the beach together in ages.” They used to go when Alys and Gally were small, and Arthur too little to swim. It had been too long.

Brienne bit her lip, but in the quiet she whispered, “I would like that.”


End file.
